Just One More Drink
by Digital Tempest
Summary: Challenge fic. She didn’t really want to go, but she knew where this was headed. Triple HxLita.


**Title:** Just One More Drink  
**Author:** Tempest  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters recognizable from the WWE. Character names are owned by Vince, et al, and all people own themselves, of course. I make no money off these works. No copyright infringement intended.  
**Foreword:** Written for the "Behind Every Woman" challenge. This is a pairing I have always favored for some reason. I wrote my first fanfiction about these two way back when I was deep into the wrestling fandom. All characters are in character. I like to write my characters in character, mmmkay? Maybe this will be the start of my return to writing wrestling fanfiction. I don't know. We'll see. Slight spoilers for ECW: One Night Stand.

———

"Smoking is a filthy habit," she heard a deep voice rumble behind her.

She turned on her stool slightly, barely acknowledging the owner of the voice. Her eyes slid over the neatly pressed suit, his crisp white shirt open at the neck. A godlier-than-thou smile curved his lips. She'd always thought he was a good-looking man. A certified asshole, but still a good-looking man nonetheless. Hunter Hearst Helmsley, God's gift to the WWE. Or at least, that's what he'd have them all believe.

She rolled her eyes at him, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, tendrils of smoke curled from her mouth wrapping around his words. "What do you care?" she asked before enveloping her lips around the cigarette again. She squinted her eyes at him, wondering if he'd answer her question, wondering if she'd care if he did. She was mildly surprised when he took the seat next to her, ordering himself a martini—dry.

"I _don't_," he said. She made a snorting sound in her throat before looking away.

He had never known her to smoke, but since she'd been with Edge, she was doing many things that he considered out-of-character for her. Before Edge, before the Hardys broke up, he'd known her as the queen of _eXtreme_, lively, fiery, willing to take risks in the ring. Now, she'd been reduced to _this_—dark makeup that didn't quite fit her face, a heroin chic sneer on her face.

She was dressed no better than the common ring rat with her melt-on jeans and her peek-a-boo shirt. His eyes did momentarily follow the curve of her breasts. A fleeting thought of how they'd feel beneath his hands entered his mind. When he looked up again, she was looking straight at him. She caught him staring. No sense in trying to act like he hadn't been. Wasn't that what a shirt like that was made for—_staring_?

"See something you like?" she asked him boldly. She really wanted to flush under his gaze, but this wasn't high school. And she sure as hell wasn't a blushing virgin. She was used to male attention—positive and negative.

He thought he saw something smoldering in her too intense gaze, something that she should reserve for Edge not him. "Why? You think you got something I might like?"

"Well… I don't know, Hunter. Depends on what you like," she drawled, stubbing the butt of the cigarette out in the ashtray in front of her. She thought about taking another from the pack in her purse and ordering herself another vodka chaser for effect, but she thought better of it. Instead, she waited for his answer, wondering how he'd take the bait.

"A little respectability, for one thing," he said too roughly. She only smirked at him, reminding herself that he wasn't exactly known for his tact. "What happened to you, Lita?"

"Reality is what happened." She said. She felt her temperature rising as he held her stare far longer than he should have, but she had to remind herself that she wasn't dealing with just any man.

"Whoring yourself out for Edge is your reality?"

How is that any different than whoring yourself out to the boss's daughter, she wanted to ask, but she knew Hunter's goodwill only went so far. She'd suffered at his hands before in the ring. She knew he had no reserves about dealing his punishment out to a woman. And she might tease and taunt, but she never wanted to push him to _that_ point, again. "I know what you think. I know what everyone else thinks. But this is just a means to the end."

"What end would that be?" he asked.

She paused for a second, furrowing her brows. She'd had this conversation with different people many times before, but no one had actually stopped to ask her what she hoped to gain from her relationship with Edge. Honestly, she wasn't really sure. That was something she'd always said to get people off her back about him. She'd say that he was a means to the end, and they'd take it as that because _everyone_ in the WWE had an ulterior motive.

"Some things are best left unsaid," she finally managed to stammer, turning her eyes away from him when he gave her an unconvinced look. _Nice save, Lita_, she said sarcastically to herself.

"Do you really think it's going to be worth it in the end?" She didn't know what she wanted; she was just telling him something to make herself feel better about the whole thing. Did he blame her? Sometimes, you had to lie to yourself just so you could look yourself in the face. It wasn't his place to preach at her. He was only curious.

"It'd better be." Something fruitful better come from this relationship with Edge. She might not know exactly what she hoped to gain, but she had not spent all these months fucking him and being his personal toy for nothing.

"And if it isn't?" Hunter asked, watching as anger played lightly on her face. She turned those too-deep eyes back toward him, lips pouting slightly in disapproval at his words. For a moment, he wondered what she would do if he kissed her suddenly, but he didn't play those kind of games.

"There's going to be some hell to pay," she answered.

He didn't know what it was like to have to watch your "boyfriend" act like a dog in heat in and out the ring. He had never outright told her that he wanted to sleep with other women, but she had her suspicions. His eyes were always roaming to the nearest pretty thing. It didn't matter if she was with him; he always eyed any woman old enough to grace his bed. She could only imagine what he did when she wasn't around. He made his intentions quite clear during their match at One Night Stand when he'd all but dry-humped Beaulah.

She wasn't even sure where Edge was now, probably somewhere too drunk on success and cheap liquor to worry about her. She could only hope that he wasn't holed up in some cheap, musty hotel with some willing ring rat. Well, maybe Hunter did understand that. Stephanie's fidelity was something that always came into question during their short-lived marriage. "That sounds a bit more like the Lita I used to know." His voice jarred her from her thoughts.

"Believe it or not, she's still around." Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to have someone like Hunter in her bed. She knew he was opportunistic, always looking for a way to stay dominant, but he'd been faithful to Stephanie—maybe even puppy dog-ish in that respect. She'd had her share of faithful and unfaithful men, but she'd never been with one quite as dominating as Hunter. Her cheeks flushed at unbidden thoughts of them in bed.

"Good, I sort of liked the old Lita better." He saw her face redden as she turned away from him again. She smiled before shaking her head.

"Why? Because she let you kick her ass?" she asked, eyeing the forest green napkins on the bar, trying to take her mind off _him_.

"No," he said, touching his fingers to her face and urging her to look at him, "because she wasn't a coward." And she pulled away from him, just as he pulled back from her, both feeling the brief sparks of attraction.

She stood up suddenly, throwing too much money on the bar. "I gotta go," she said, her voice strained.

She didn't really _want_ to go, but she knew where this was headed. They'd have a couple of more drinks, and he'd help her to her room she _didn't_ share with Edge. She'd fumble with her room key while being too aware that he was still behind her. Once she got the door open, she'd invite him in—"just to talk." And maybe they would talk for all of five minutes, or maybe she'd just rip open his expensive shirt the second the door was closed.

She doubted whatever happened between them beyond that point would be fluffy and romantic. It wasn't like they were in love. It would be imploring mouths and exploring fingers, sweat hitting taste buds and frenetic thrusts. She might come; she might not. But she'd love every dirty minute of it. And that's why she knew she had to get out of there as quickly as she could. Before…

He grabbed her hand, refusing her escape. "Just one more drink. We can talk about old times," he said, watching the silent war waging on her face. She bit her bottom lip, and he could see her in his mind doing the same thing while he was above her. Her hand finally relaxed against his, as she took her seat again.

"Just one more," she said, letting her fingers linger on his wrist.


End file.
